Mistakes
by eckles
Summary: Some mistakes are small, while others carry a wieght that can be felt not only within your heart, but your very soul. In a moment of jealousy, Hermione, makes a mistake. And it costs her the only love she has ever wanted, can she reclaim it back?
1. Chapter 1

There is a Muggle saying, it goes like this: _'Everybody makes mistakes._' As most philosophies go this one is both simple and very accurate. What it means to those without the common sense to understand three simple words is this: no-one is perfect. At least no-one, that is, who hasn't made it her life's mission to try and be perfect.

For as long as I can remember I have always tried to be the person who did no wrong. If there was a question then you could always look to me to have the answer. I never got into trouble and usually when I did it was because of a certain _'Boy-who-lived'_ and a certain male red-head who had entered my life during my first year of Hogwarts. And even then I was always considered by my Peers and Professors to be the _'reasonable'_ and _'good'_ one of the infamous Gryffindor Trio.

I tried so hard to be the best I could be. Being a muggle-born surrounded by half-bloods and full-blood wizards and witches I guess I had to be. I had to prove everyday that I belonged just as much as they did in this fantastic and incredible world. I was the best and brightest student of my collective classes. The best and fairest Prefect. I even tried to be the voice of calm reason when there was only chaos and danger surrounding me. Always, I strived to excel and prove my worthiness to those who took such thinks for granted.

But best does not always equal perfect, despite the number of times we may often try to fool ourselves into believing it does. And just because I always tried to be the best or to be perfect in whatever arena I committed myself too it did not mean that I didn't possess flaws. It just meant that I was more successful at concealing them then other people.

My biggest flaw, I suppose out of the many I have hidden, is the one I'm looking straight at right now. His name is Ronald Bilius Weasley and no, he's not the flaw. The greatest flaw in me is that of love. How can I love a man who I do nothing but push away? Whether it is intentional or not, accidental or in the heat of pointless argument, why do I find myself struggling to embrace the fortitude of my feelings? Why doesn't there exist a voice within me to halt my pathetic sabotages of happiness?

Of coarse I cannot accept all the credit for my stupidity, Ron has to always taken his share of responsibility and blame as well. But for someone who cultured and refined herself to being level-headed and logical it would be pointless to cast an accusing finger to someone wasn't these things, even at the best of moments. As my father often used to say: _"How can you blame a Fox for being a Fox?" _The answer to this riddle is self-explanatory: You can't. Ron can be as witless and stubborn as he can be as equally daring and adorable. It's what makes him, him. How can I love just a piece of someone when it is their whole that makes my heartbeat quicken?

I suspected that I fell in love with Ron even before I ever admitted I had any feelings for him, or that I even understood what 'Love' truly was. After all, with only a casual comment he could either make my heart soar or send me running off to my dorm room, or the Girl's Lavatory, in tears. Even, Draco Malfoy, with all his cruel taunts could never once accomplish that easy claim. Only someone you truly love could make you feel that bad and that wonderful without even trying.

After Voldermort's death. My world was safe once more. No, scratch that. It wasn't just safe, it was better! Because in that horrid interim, between fighting for our lives and that loathsome excuse for a Wizard's demise, Ron and I finally found the desperate strength to confess our feelings to the other. All these bottled up and confusing emotions that we had both repressed and had tried to deny could no longer be kept silent between us. I mean, how could we keep quiet? Especially as death itself could have met either of us at any moment. To reject what we both felt for so long would have been more then foolish, it would have been cowardly. And as Gryffindor's were known for their bravery we both finally chose to take the plunge and be true to our 'House' nature. It just took us, sadly, several years to do so.

But that just raises the whole question of what is more important in a relationship, quality or quantity? Yes, we had both missed out on many years and yes there were many tears and frustrated silences between us. But in-truth, as strange as it is to confess and say, I think we needed these experiences. I needed my experience with Viktor in the same way that Ron needed his dalliance with Lavender Brown. Because it was these two people that forced he and I to finally acknowledge that our tiny impulse of longing of the other had a cause more then that of simple jealousy. And despite my personal issues with Lavender because of her 'romance' with Ron, I suppose deep down I will always be grateful to her. Because it was in his time with Lav-Lav, that Ron began to appreciate what it truly was to be in a relationship.

It is only a shame that I had only a brief moment to bask in this sunshine before I welcomed the dark clouds into my day. One-week. That was all we had. Seven-short-days of contented bliss where everything and nothing was shared between us. I walked on a dream for most of it. My parents had returned to me in this time, their memories of who I was to them was repaired. All thoughts of a happy future played in my mind and no image was absent, Ron. I even had pictured children, two boys and a girl with names to accompany each. The boys: Conner and Randall, and the daughter – Roselyn, or Rosemary (_I hadn't decided on which yet_), and they all had the surname of Weasley. It was a good future, and a beautiful dream to have. But my dream became a nightmare on the seventh day.

It was one week passed our victory over the 'Darkness' and the rapidly reformed Ministry of Magic was desperate to affirm with the Wizarding world the truth that all was now safe once again. A Gala Ball was initiated with me, Harry and Ron as the Guests of Honour to give memory to the Fallen and the assorted Heroes of the War just passed. There were a lot of emotions between us three and this night, but I dare say it was my emotions that were the most acute. Because this would be the night where Ron and I would attend together not as best-friends, but as a couple. Harry would enter the Hall with Ginny on his arm and Ron and I would follow them several seconds later doing the same. It was our 'Coming-out', so to speak, for all to see.

The moment itself as we both entered the Function was, for lack of a better word, magical. I had been on Viktor's arm when I entered the Great Hall of Hogworts during the Yule Ball, but it was nothing compared to this wonderful experience. All eyes were upon us with admiration, envy and even gratitude for all the hardship we four teenagers had endured over the years towards claiming our eternal victory. We descended the staircase arm-in-arm, and nothing in my life could have been more perfect. That is until we were midway and I felt Ron tense for a moment between steps. When we reached the bottom and stood beside Harry and Ginny there was an eruption of applause from all gathered for us four. But I noticed that Ron's eyes were lost in the direction of a pretty blonde girl sitting alone in the corner of the great venue.

I looked to the keeper of my heart and his expression was a pained one mixed with the desperation of an anxious dog straining at some invisible leash around his neck. When the applause died he surrendered to me my arm that he had claimed a minute before and said that he had to speak to 'someone' and that he would not be long. He then figuratively dived into a collection of admirers, negotiating his way to the unknown Beauty in the distance. I strained my eyes, doing my best to observe his approach and mannerisms, our relationship was still so new and though I trusted Ron with my Life and my Heart I knew from bitter experience that his ego can sometimes be a powerful thing. Especially where fame and an attractive girl are concerned, Lavender Brown and his fame as the House Cup Victor being a painful example.

He stalled in his approach and said something, the woman turned and smiled to him accepting whatever words he offered with sad-pleasure. He said something else to her and in this fragile exchange she darted out of her seat with the same enthusiasm that Ron had in now rapid approach of her. The two collided in an embrace that was powerful as it was tender. In this instant my life fell apart. I wanted to send another flock of vicious magical canneries in his direction, but I couldn't. My heart felt too betrayed to find the anger and the words in me to complete such a complex spell. Instead I just watched as Ron, the man I loved with all my being, stroked and soothed the golden hair of a stranger as she wrapped herself in his arms.

They say that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and it was in this known Shakespearean statement that I found my vengeance. If Ronald Bilius Weasley wished to spend his evening holding a 'stranger', a 'beautiful-stranger' at that, then I would happily do the same with the many men who were starting to gather around me seeking a dance.

The rest of the evening progressed in a blur. The faces of the various males who took my hand towards the dance floor became a muddle of collective features in my mind. The only face that mattered to me was the expression upon Ron's whenever our eyes met across the Hall. There was a myriad of emotions being played out on his features, the most notable of them all was anger, followed by sadness and then loss as he watched me being held, dipped, and swayed in the sweaty meat-hooks of another person. In my cruelty I felt, at times, despair, but then all I would have to do is look to the woman sitting beside him, holding his hand, and in this viewing I felt invigorated towards my 'justice'.

When evening concluded in the morning early hours, Ronald approached me to escort me back home to my Parent's place (just as he had promised them he would). The moment he took my hand I could feel the tension in his light grip and in this I knew that as soon as we were away from everyone that he would verbally explode. It was in this intimate knowledge and understanding of him that I planned my reaction and retaliation.

When we both Apperated to the street besides my Family's home, I was not left disappointed. The accusations of philandering exited his mouth with ease, and the term 'Scarlet-Woman' was pursued with eagerness over his lips. And when in a brief moment of silence as he paused to take a breath I made my gambit-stake to claim the advantage.

Oh, what a sight we must have made to the neighbours as they peered out their second story windows. To their eyes we must have been just another young couple have a lover's tiff, but to me it was a far greater tragedy then a trivial disagreement.

I called him arrogant, insightless, foolish, immature, insensitive, boorish, and rude as well as everything else I had named him over the many years of familiarity and friendship. The only difference was that instead of delivering these words in piecemeal as I had once done, I now did it all in one roaring sitting. I pointed out to him every flaw, every insecurity and every embarrassment I knew he had. Even some I knew he did not know that I knew. Embarrassments that were told to me in confidence by Ginny during some of our 'Girl-Talks'. And I did so with pure venom and contempt.

Unsurprisingly, he stood there with a lost and stunned expression plastered upon his face as I spoke anecdotal facts that he thought I did not know. And slowly I saw in his face his own anger dissolved under my own.

I told him how pathetic he was as a boyfriend, comparing him to Viktor Krum (which I knew would cause him pain) and how all the girls in my Dorm, including Lavender, right up until our 5th-Year all thought he was a walking punch-line. And that their opinions of him only changed when he won the House Cup, and not a moment before. I chose to close my spiteful-diatribe by referring to the woman he left me for that evening, claiming that she would not have looked twice in his direction if he wasn't a Hero of the War. Strangely this statement encouraged his expression of loss and hurt to disappear and evolve once more to anger, through gritted teeth he defended his actions and for the second time that night my world fell apart.

The heat of his words revealed that the young woman Ron had approached was none other then his dead brother's secret-girlfriend. And that only a few in his family knew of her existence or her relationship with Fred. This was because she was a squid, one of the few who are born into a magical family but do not possess the ability to wield it. Such people in the Wizarding Community are looked down upon, even more so then muggle-borns and Fred was choosing his time carefully before he revealed the dictates of his heart to his parents … his 'Pure-Blood' Parents. Fore though he was not ashamed of his romance, Fred was cautious towards what ills may befall her if it was revealed that a 'Blood-Traitor' was in-love with a Squid. To the supporters of Voldermort this would have been a greater offence then if he was in love with a 'Mud blood'. The difference would have been that she would not have had the skills to defend herself. So for this reason her existence was known only to Ron, George and Bill and this was principally because Fred had often used them as alibis with his Mum and Dad in order to meet with her on the sly during Bill and Fleur's wedding preparations.

She was also the girl that shared with Fred's the losing of the other's virginity. Ron knew that she was taking his brother's loss harder then many others, mainly because their relationship was a secret one. And as the topic of virginity and 'First-Times' is a private matter he wanted to keep it such, which is why he did not invite me to join him as he approached her. The words he spoke to her were not a declaration of his own love, but rather that of his dearly departed brother's. And Ron imparted to her the understanding that she had made it possible for Fred to perish in achieving all the aspects associated to ascending manhood and that his family would always have a spare seat free at their table and love her for this. It was in these words that her emotions took over and she hugged Ron and kept holding him, gaining from her embrace the love she once knew in Fred's arms. So desperate was she to release all the private and loving moments she shared with his brother, Ron, allowed himself to play the family ear and take in all the finer moments about his older brother that he did not know. After all, what else was he going to do? Catherine needed an ear to bend, and I was making myself busy dancing with lecherous men who all smelled heavy of cologne. So as I was making myself purposefully unavailable, he instead chose to remain at her side and help her gain closure to his brother's loss.

As this revelation was revealed, I could not find myself doubting the sincerity of his words. Each sentence was heavy and thick with the tone of a betrayed heart. If I could have drawn myself out of my shock in order to apologise for jumping to conclusions I would have. But silence was what claimed my tongue as a recent memory of a hundred hurtful words filled my minds ear. My condescending rebukes to one of the most decent and noblest of men claimed my soul and forced me to freeze in place out of fear to what I had jeopardised because of my jealousy.

When Ron finished, he looked to me with pity. He was not feeling pity for me or himself, at least I do not believe so. I think he was feeling pity for the loss of respect he thought I had for him. He didn't say anything, and neither did I. He slowly turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the street. If he chose he could have Apperated right there, but instead he gave me distance. A distance that allowed time to lag and possibly offer me a chance to apologise and ask him to take me back into his arms. But the knowledge and fear I had towards losing him closed down my mind, and just as that night when he walked out of the Tent after his row with Harry. Those important seconds that I could have used to retrieve him, relived once again in my all. I stood frozen and remained silent against the will of my heart and mind.

The man I loved Apperated away without any effort from me to stop him. And when he disappeared, instead of following him to Harry's and confronting him, I instead collapsed in tears and silent sobs. In this state I remained until my father and mother came out and retrieved me from the footpath outside their home. It took an hour of soothing talk to make me coherent, and in this I formulated a plan to reclaim Ron's affections. I suspected Ron would be as excitable as me (our tempers and emotions were frightingly parallel at times), so I chose to wait until later in the morning to re-approach him. Believing that after a nights sleep he would be more settled to hear my apology. Seven-hours, that was the time-limit I gave myself before I would Apperate to Ron's side.

Seven-hours, ha, even seven-minutes were too long a wait. But what was one more mistake in an evening of many. When I eventually arrived at the Burrow …well, how many times can a world crumble for one person in 24-hours???

Mistakes? I don't make many, but the ones that I do make as BIG ones and they are ones that haunt my happiness.

TBC?????????


	2. Chapter 2

How does one measure the mistake itself

_**Chapter 2 – When enough is enough.**_

How does one measure the mistake itself? Is it from the long-term repercussions caused, or is it from the pain and misery? If I can speak with any type of authority on this matter, I must say that it is neither. In my pained and learned opinion, the significance of a mistake, big or small, is one that is measured by the amount of time it takes to repair the damage done by it.

I can still remember, literally, counting the molasses seconds down to my self-imposed seven-hour dead-line. The heavy minute of action when I would face my fate and apologise to the man I had tried to destroy many hours before. In this pathetic melancholy I allowed myself to be captured in my bedroom, caught in the rocking embrace of my mother as more tears then I can ever remember shedding continued on their path down my cheek unrelenting.

I had done something that was unthinkable and totally opposite to everything I always thought I was. I had condemned another without a single opportunity to defend their actions or hear their side of the story. All I saw within my scarlet haze was a righteousness of bitterness and betrayal.

In a night that was supposed to be so close to perfection, I allowed all my negative doubts to run rampant and lay claim to my own confidence when Ron had asked to leave my side in order to approach a beautiful stranger sitting in the distance.

I was hurt and I was incensed, and in this pain I made my cruel deeds obvious and vindictive to him and all who knew that we were a 'couple' now. Jealous at his abandonment of me for another, I willingly accepted the hand of any man who asked me to dance with them. I threw aloud fake laughs of enjoyment whenever I passed Ron's gaping and harmed expression. And when I did pass him I dramatically twirled and allowed myself to be dipped in the arms of another, gaining some measure of joy at how uncomfortable he was obviously feeling at viewing my 'enjoyment'.

I took into myself a spiteful pleasure towards his sadness and pain and it was only after we departed the civility of the Ball together, in the same mode we had both arrived, that he found verb enough to confront me upon my 'behaviour' and disrespect of him.

With the bottled up and concealed hurt I had nursed all evening, hidden behind a _'pleased-and-thrilled-party-face'_ I felt in no mood to hear a lecture by Ronald Weasley on the topic of 'appropriate' and 'respectful' behaviour towards me. So at the first opportunity to interject, I chose to lash out on the offensive at him instead of permitting myself the luxury of a defensive to justify my actions. I spoke at him with an arsenal of criticism that had left his understanding of self floundering and dizzy.

I had prayed that in meting out this strategy that I would have helped put him in his place and to make him understand how indeed fortunate he was that I had loved him as much as I did. That if he could not appreciate me instead of some dazzling stranger then there was many men who would joyously take his place.

Whether my words were poorly chosen, or whether my tone was harsher then needed, its effect was less then a contrite one. For in the awaiting seconds an anger rose in him to defend the woman he spent all his minutes at the Ball with, the same one I had unjustly slandered. The one he felt the need to counsel through the loss of his brother and her first love.

In his righteous ire I saw the qualities that I loved most about him, his selfless nature and sense of loyalty to those he felt deserving of it. I discovered in these heated seconds of verbal fury that I had not only misjudged him, but I had also misjudged the strength of his love for me when I prey upon an innocent party to my corrupt understanding of his _faithfulness_. At the discovery of my jealousy's cost, every word I had in my mind became jumbled and my feet started to tremble. I was snared in both inactivity and silence.

Even as he turned his back and slowly walked a distance away so that he could Apperate out from the visibility of the street light, I knew that he was also desperately waiting and hoping for me to shout out an apology to him that was deserved. But instead all there was to welcome the pre-dawned air was the silence of my terrified voice as I thought of all the cruel insults I had just delivered to him.

And it was in my muted behaviour that I watch him materialise away from me with the posture of a shattered man.

I never got out of the uncomfortably tight Ball Gown, nor did I remove the strict and excessively tight dancing slipper's that had undoubtedly caused more then one blister upon the heel of my feet. In hindsight I suspect this physical torture was a subconscious desire of mine to reparations to Ron and punish myself in some way. During those slow dawdling hours I refused to drink any _Dreamless Sleeping Draft_ as I did not want to slumber through my proposed dead line.

I knew that my words earlier would have hurt Ron to his core, just as I knew that if any opportunity had existed to have righted myself in his eyes it would have been immediately after. But I had ruined this chance with my cowardly silence the best strategy was then to give him several hours to vent his frustrations. Approaching him when he was a little more _'emotionally exhausted'_ and vulnerable to my heartfelt delivery of forgiveness asking.

True, some might say that this sounded conniving and maybe it was, but knowing Ron as I did I also knew that where the topic of apologies were involved that timing was everything. So for those seven-hours, my tired and red eyes watched the clock as my mother tried to feed me tea and offer me all the assurances of _'love conquering all'_, and having me try and believe her words.

When the clock in my room struck 10am, I did not allow myself to hesitate. With impatience I appeared straight to Grimmald Place. The various Apperition Guards still remained up on the former Headquarters' of the Phoenix, but since the war's end, Harry had them lowered for selected and trusted Wizards and Witches, of whose number I found myself accounted.

The house was silent and empty, the ticking of the main clock echoed about the hallways. But aside from this disturbance of sound there was no other sign of life within.

I ran up to the third story to the door where I knew hid Ron's bedroom behind. Ron had moved in with Harry a few days earlier, I had also received the 'invite' but I had been separated from my parents and with the Memory-Loss Incantation I placed upon them for their own safety I felt a need to remain with them until the few gabs that still existed were filled.

With a soft tap I enquired to see if he was by chance awake, when no answer came I tapped again only harder this time. It is difficult to now look back upon this memory and still not feel the beads of sweat forming on my brow as I waited awkwardly for his voice to beckon me in. When all I was welcomed too in my efforts was quiet I took a still gulp of air and I made the determination to enter his room without any invitation to do so.

Surprisingly, a relief briefly overwhelmed me when I viewed no occupant within, but realisation quickly took hold of what this meant as a dark dread swallowed this imagined tranquillity whole. His room was empty and all his belongings gone. With stuttering speed I ran to Harry's room on the second floor and likewise his room was empty as well, but unlike Ron all of his belongings remained.

If not for a helpful portrait, which was one of many replaced by Harry within the former Black residence immediately after the War a week ago, I would have allowed myself to become consumed with worry to what these clues had meant. With a soft and soothing voice it called out to me from down the Hall. It had said that Harry had gone after his red-headed friend who had appeared earlier that morning in quite a distressed mood over some _'issue'_ and that they had both flooed to a place called the _'Burrow'_.

Again, I did not hesitate, nor did I offer the kind picture a 'thank-you' for the news it provided. I instead disappeared from the hallway of Grimmald and appeared with a sudden pop within the Lounge area of _'The Burrow'_. I had less then a second to gain my bearings before I was collided into by a pacing and thumbnail chewing Weasley daughter who I looked upon more as a sister then a friend. My arrival, however, did not bring her any joy and like me she remained dressed in her Gown from the previous evening.

A dark expression clouded her face and I could tell without the asking that her feelings for me were ones only of distain at present. I remember wanting so desperately to usher out words to seek her forgiveness, for I could only imagine the accurate version of Ron's retelling over what I had said to him earlier. But I could not lose my nerve or my momentum. Ron was my priority, Ginny and all others would have to fall second in line to me seeking their forgiveness.

With a beseeching glance at her then a turn-away I began the hastened steps in my journey towards the spiralling staircase leading to Ron's old bedroom. But by the third footfall I heard Harry's voice descend to me. Without even registering the contents of the words he was speaking I could easily hear the stress in his pleas. And through the uninterrupted footsteps as they marched down the poorly, yet lovingly, constructed staircase, I knew that his sincere efforts were only falling upon deaf ears.

When both male parties made it to the bottom I stood fixed in place, prepared to receive a barrage of deserved abuse by this small progression's leader. But instead all I receive from the target of my guilt was a half-second acknowledgement of my presence as he shifted his duffle bag to being slung over his left-shoulder. His face was an unreadable mask of emotion, and to him he made me all but invisible to his eyes as he strode towards the rear door of his family home.

Reliant Harry, however, ordered him to stop and address me. And I daresay it was only through the strength of their friendship that he gave pause before he grasped the doorhandle.

This was the opportunity I had wanted, and now that it was there it was the one thing I feared. After all these years that passed I wish I could recall accurately what I had said to him. But all I could remember was that my voice _(in my mind and memory)_ squeaked like a timid mouse and my heart raced to the point that I was afraid it would exit my chest. I do recall that I had told him that I did not truly mean the things I had said to him earlier. And I naively thought that this would be enough to help bridge the gap that now separated us by my scornful words. Sadly, it wasn't. He did, however, answer me. And with these three-words I would have happily sold my soul not to have heard.

His dead-man's tone and the glacier look in his eyes told me of the lasting damage I had done to _'us'_. And his clear response to my claim to not really meaning to degrade his sense of self-worth on the street outside my home, or raising issues of his ignorance and laying hurtful belittlement of all his assorted efforts. Came down to a three stinging word answer – _"Yes, you did."_

'Yes, you did." I tried, but I could not recover. Afterall, what I had done earlier was only to repeat the many insults I had delivered to him over the many years of friendship I had with him. How could I not expect him to believe or others for that matter that these skewed observations were ones that I still embraced as true in defining him?

In my stupor, he gave a single curt nod to Harry and offered Ginny a small sad smile. And for the second time that morning he disappeared from me before I found in myself the capability of calling out to him not to go.

A/N - Thank You to all those who read the first chapter and offered their thoughts. I have for a long time remained a fan of many talents upon , so to know that there existed a small collection of people who looked upon my own efforts with favour was a touching thing. If you like this chapter, or even if you did not, I would deeply love to hear your thoughts and theories on how I might be able to make improvements. Constructive thoughts, not mindless Flames please.


	3. Chapter 3

They say that hate is a never ending cycle and it is one that can never be removed from your soul. It is even worse when the thing that you hate is yourself, because 'yourself' is something that will always be there staring back at you in the mirror.

I suppose I could be over dramatic and say that when Ron left me that morning many years ago that my life and world fell apart. That would, after all, be an easy claim for me to make, but it one that is far from the truth. Because if my life and world did indeed fall apart then there would at least have been an end to all the hurt I felt. And sadly my hurt didn't seem to stop.

In the days that flowed after _'That Day'_, I found myself descending into a series of irrational bouts of grief and fury. One moment I would be angry at myself and in the next I was angry at him. The furniture in my bedroom, which was a place I had chosen to hide away from the world, suffered the worst of this outlet of despair. With my wand and helplessness I destroyed and with my remorse and shame I repaired. I had used the _'Repairo Spell'_ so many times that my bedside table began to look as though it was crafted by a carpenter on LSD. And as always in this place of overlapping and opposite emotions I found myself continually asking the reasonable question - _'Why did I place blame on __him__ when the fault was all __mine__?' _

On most occasions the answer to this repeated question came simply. I was angry because he didn't even give me a chance to properly explain, or to even convince him. I was angry because he just left, abandoning me all alone to feel this way. I was angry because it took Harry to stop him from walking out that door when he first saw me, not me with red eyes and dried tear-stained mascara on my face – HARRY! And even then I did not earn more then a few minutes of his time. After all the years of friendship and the incredible emotions we had finally discovered for the other, collectively that was only worth to him three-minutes of stuttered and frantic apologizing on my part.

But no amount of pleading from me seemed to move him. I wanted Ron to understand fully that my insults earlier were the impotent swings from a woman whose ego had been damaged and consumed with jealousy and the threat of losing him to another far prettier then myself. Yet instead of providing me with this dearest opportunity to accept my reasoning and forgive my harsh words he instead chose to only respond with those damn words _'Yes, you did'. _

And just like that he disappeared leaving me to deal with the repercussions of my own stupidity. Yes, I know. This argument of sharing the blame with another who is blameless probably makes no sense, unless of coarse you are at present irrational, and then it makes all the sense in the cursed world. Ron and I fought. We always fought. Sometimes we would fight over the stupidest of things. Why then did he choose this time, of all times, not to fight? Why couldn't he have fought with me? Not against me, but FOR me. Why did he just surrender?

If he had taken only an extra moment and argued with me then maybe he would have seen how plainly and sincerely distraught I was at my earlier actions. Yes, I raised inane issues that didn't truly matter to me all as a weapon to take him down _'a-couple-of-pegs' _when I had thought he was flirting with another girl. But words, any words, were not worth the trouble of speaking if it meant I couldn't have him in my life any longer. I just wished he could have believed in my sorrow.

This is what plagued me the most and caused more then my fair share of sleepless nights that followed. And it wasn't until the fourth day that Harry had decided that _enough-was-enough_, choosing to barge into my bedroom without waiting for the ushering of permission by me to enter. Permission, I might add that he would have known from previous days of pointless vigils would never come. For three days prior he would visit and sit a sentry post outside my bedroom door. Silent, waiting and trying to break my stubbornness with his own patience. But even patience has its limits and I think four-days were the most his could bare.

But how could I explain, even to my best-friend, that he was also a person, aside from myself, whom I now irrationally hated as well? In someway he was as guilty as me at letting Ron leave. I mean, he should have jinxed Ron's legs together, petrified him, he should have done something to keep him at the Burrow. But what did he do? He helped the _Love-of-my-Life_ pack his belongings. PACK!! Do you believe it? He helped Ron pack his bag and gave him gold galleons for whatever journey he was going on.

When he confessed this action to me I didn't know whether I should laugh or cry. I felt so betrayed. Harry's excuse was of coarse one that only a male could understand, and certainly not something a female or someone of logic could ever appreciate. He told me, without the support of any shame in his tone or words whatsoever that he did what he did in order to preserve our relationship. Preserve?! I wanted to shout out in retaliation to this pathetic statement - _'WHAT RELATIONSHIP?!'_ but instead I fled like a coward back to my Mother's and Father's home, taking solitary refuge in the room of my childhood.

How could Harry have not understood that I _needed_ Ron in order to have any relationship with him? I didn't care if Ron despised me now; I just wanted him back in my life no matter what form it would have taken. Angry at me or not. I understand that this may not have been seen as a healthy desire. But didn't he understand from our personal history that Ron and I had danced this dance many times before and we always ended up forgiving the other in time and then becoming friends again? That in his decision of supporting Ron's choice to leave that he was infact destroying any hope I had that we could reconcile from my awful and cruel blunder?

The magical lock I had upon my bedroom door imploded upon itself and Harry walked forward with more determination fixed on his face then I had ever seen before. And I knew then that no amount of screaming, or threats to him about invading my privacy would have held any sway over his choice of actions.

He looked upon me with an equal amount of pity and repulsion, and I cannot say that I blamed him. I was still wearing that blasted Ball Gown; I hadn't changed from that terrible morning four days earlier, my hair was flat and oily, my make-up was smudged and I probably stank to high heaven as well.

Without a care for impropriety he pulled me off the bed and all but threw me into the bathroom across the Hall. His order to me was a simple one – _"Shower, change into some fresh clothes and to come downstairs for something to eat and drink."_ I was about to offer and indignant refusal to his demands and order him off my parent's property, but he never even gave me a chance to open my mouth to issue this. He pulled out an envelope from his top pocket and responded with - _"I got an OWL from Ron."_

That was what he said, and to me it was enough of an incentive to do exactly what he commanded me to do. So twenty minutes later I arrived in my family kitchen to view scrambled eggs, bacon and pear juice waiting for me on the table with an expectancy on my best friend's face that it was to be all consumed before he would serve me with the prize I sought.

During the awkwardness that followed with my chewing and swallowing, Harry proceeded to tell me that Ginny had now forgiven me. Forgave me, at least, for as much as she could. But she was still pretty angry over what I had dared say to her favorite brother. As such I was instructed by Harry that it would be probably for the best if I avoided coming to the Burrow for a while, just until the temptation of have an _Extreme Bat-Bogey Hex_ released upon me had passed and her temper had cooled down a bit more.

He also told me that the rest of the Weasley family was as yet unaware of the TRUE circumstance that prompted Ron to take an impromptu _'Vacation'_. And that only he and Ginny knew the truth, and that Ginny had sworn to him a _Witches Pledge_ not to speak of it to anyone except to those already in _'the know'_.

Harry proceed to tell me other things, but to be honest I allowed my mind to wander to only one thought – _Ron's Letter._ And as desperate as I was, I did not want this desperation to consume what little reason I possessed or had remaining. Whatever words Ron wrote for me had to have been, in the very least, written several hours earlier. My mind was beset with various possibilities contained within the envelope. Was it a _'Dear Jane'_? No, it couldn't have been that. He had all but practically said the words _'I'm Leaving You'_ days ago, so why would he go to this type of trouble now? Unless of coarse he wanted it to be official, without any possibility of misunderstanding from me on the demise of our burgeoning relationship.

Or maybe it was something more detailed? Ron always liked to get the last word in and what better way to flay what was left of my hopes then to give me days to stew and then ram that rusted butter-knife of dejection deep into my chest. Could he be that vindictive? On thought, I had to concede that he could if he was hurt and motivated enough to be so. That was just who he was. Neither of these options's presented me with any encouragement to finish my meal quickly.

And then there was of course, Harry's presence. If Harry knew that Ron was going to do one, or both, of these things to me, he certainly would not have come playing the role of _'Messenger'_, or play any part in this drama, would he? Unless, of course, he was only here to provide me with the expected and immediate comfort of having my heart trampled on.

Each paranoid theory was maddening to me and these were just a few of the potentials I could be facing in the coming minutes. As much as I wanted that _'contact'_ with Ron once more, I still in the same heartbeat dared not have it as well. Because if I read that letter and it did not support anything positive then all my dreams and fantasies that I had been lying to myself these past few days will in all likely hood never happen. What I wanted was for _him_ to have beaten down my door, pulled me off my bed and demanded that I get myself together because he could not tolerate having a girlfriend going _'mental'_ on him at a drop of a hat. THIS IS WHAT I WANTED!! I didn't want Harry to be the one standing in my family home; I wanted it to be Ron!

Next to that what I had wanted second was to be once more back in my room tormenting myself with loneliness. Praying that word would eventually reach his ears on how hard I was taking things and have him realize that I had suffered enough. But instead the closest I got to this desperate wish was a letter. A letter possessing contents that would either destroy me or … well, destroy me most likely

When Harry eventually slid the envelope towards me he did so with a glum expression. From his eyes alone I knew that the words that lay within this paper packaging were ones I most likely didn't want to read. But I also knew that I could only avoid the truth for so long. I ripped open the magical seal that would only allow the intended reader to breach its confines and drew out 12-pages of explanations and thoughts.

Carefully and attentively I began to read, absorbing each sentence as though I was to face an examination on this subject directly after. It took me all of 20-minutes to finally place the last sheet down, and without realizing he left, I noticed that Harry was no longer in the kitchen with me. My first instinct was to call out his name, but something inside me told me where I could find him. As I neared my room I could hear him rummaging. And when I entered I saw that he had placed my old Hogwort's trunk on my bed and had begun loading all of my clothing and several books within.

Silently, I began joining him in his effort. He didn't speak and neither did I. And for the rest of the day as I began the move into Grimmald he never once asked me what Ron had written. Maybe because he probably understood that the contents were mine to know and no other. But just because he didn't ask, it did not mean that I didn't share it with him later that evening.

In those 12-pages I learned the answer to all the questions that had been pestering me the past few days. And I was grateful that Harry was there with me to listen as I expelled and unburdened my thoughts on everything that had happened and transpired between Ron and I. But there was something that was niggling at me over Ron's words. They always seemed incomplete somehow, that there was more to his decision to leave then what he had wrote. It was almost there for me to plainly see, but for some reason I blind to it. But fortunately I had Harry there to answer my suspicions and doubts.

He patiently listened as I tried to tear apart Ron's written reasoning to him. And from this topic it all eventually led to a bizarre discussion between us over motives; I had told Harry of my expectancy of Ron's pages being full of anger, and had expressed my surprise that what lay within was only the outpourings of a frightened young man. Ron was actually agreeing with me over the righteousness of my claims.

He spoke of every flaw he thought he possessed and apologized to me for them wholeheartedly. He said that I was absolutely right and that I deserved better then having to have to tolerate someone like him as a boyfriend. It was as I was talking this issue through that Harry's face became constricted with ire and I suddenly felt very afraid for myself. As if reading my mind, _which he probably was_, Harry apologized for scaring me and he progressed to talk to me as he has never done before and one I pray he will never again repeat. Because for the first time Harry wasn't speaking to me as a friend, he spoke to me as someone who he just _knew_.

Gone were any cares and delicate thoughts on saying something that might offend me. He wasn't _brutal _in his opinions, but he also didn't hold back either for my sake. He delivered his view on how _imperfect_ I truly was. I daresay it was an effort from him in order to try and make me emphasize with how Ron must have truly felt when I did the same. It was an extreme experiment, but it worked. I knew how I hurt him and I knew I felt beyond any emotion I had possessed before for doing such, even when Ron and Harry got in that argument in the Tent and I instinctively through a protective field around Harry with me on his side. I remember the telegraphed hurt Ron had on his face when he saw that I had placed myself on Harry's side of the shield. And I remember the loss I felt when he stormed out of the Tent knowing that I had contributed to him feeling betrayed. Harry said that it was one thing to know these things yourself, but it was completely different to be told them. With a new understanding and full of a deeper regret of my impact, I had to now concur.

It was in the strange manner in which Harry had said this to me that seemed a bit … _off_. To me it didn't seem as though he was speaking about what I did, but rather what someone else had. So as he poured himself another cup of tea I asked him point-blank on why Ron suddenly felt so insecure about these things I said to him, not that they weren't awful, when over the course of years and of friendship that it had always been able to slid off his shoulders before now?

Harry looked up from his cup with somber and sorrowed expression on his face and old me his theory. He believed that what I had most likely done four-days earlier was only accentuate to Ron the spoken-venom left behind by Voldermort's cruel soul. It was this possibility that nearly made me vomit bile, only Harry had ever bared witness to the insecurities which were revealed and encouraged in the Forest the night of Ron's return to us. The soul of Thomas Riddle had for weeks been playing with Ron's sense of worth and achievement. Poisoning all his confidence and sense of security in himself, his friends and his family. The only difference between me and _'Riddle'_ was that with the Slythern Locket, Ron had identified the evil and the malice that lay within. And from this evil he found the strength from deep within himself to destroy the cursed object. My own delivery and barrage must have rung an unhappy reminder to how he feared others had viewed him and only offered strength to Voldermort's claims.

And it was this knowledge that has been my torment ever since.

In the year that followed, Ron, would periodically Owl, Harry, Ginny and his parent's. He even Owled, Neville on his Birthday. But for me? For me I only benefited from second hand accounts and gossip that I was told by others in passing. On occasion's he did enquire into my well-being from Harry in his letters, and Harry naturally told me. I suppose that it was a small benefit knowing that Ron was still thinking of me, even if it was only as a friend. But it was not the same as if he had actually made an effort to _'reach out'_ to me himself I stead of having it done through a second-party.

It was not until our first Christmas Eve of separation when Harry, who had had far too much _cheer_ thanks to a special case of Brandy, Percy, had bought to the Weasley Family Dinner. That I decided screw up my remaining Gryfindore courage and enquired deeper then any previous times into the nature of Ron's avoidance of me. Prior to this night I had never wanted to place Harry again in any position of betraying a confidence entrusted to him by Ron. But I knew that given his present state there was, in all likelihood, little chance that the following morning, Harry, would remember any of the night's events or my interrogation of him.

In a speech of pronouncing slurs and unattractive drooling, I learned what I had already, for a longtime suspected. Ron's greatest fear has always been to look foolish in the eyes of other people. And who can really blame him; he was the Twin's favorite guinea pig afterall. Who wouldn't develop a phobia like that after being subjected to the rubbish as he was when he was growing up?

But things were different now, he Wizarding World finally knew of his independent bravery and his attributes, no longer was he saddled with the reference of being Harry Potter's sidekick. He was finally in a _'good-place'_ character-wise and I was never happier for him. But on the night of this acknowledgement and amongst the _movers-and-shakers_ of Magical Briton, what does his girlfriend do? She parades around the Ball Room on the hand of any man who asked her to take it! The objective I had was cruel and unwarranted, and sadly very, very shortsighted. Afterall, if there was ever one word to describe Ron to a _'T'_, it would be pride.

Here I was at the biggest event for the past several Year's, entering the Hall on the arm of a man I both admired and deeply cared about. On this presentation alone it would have been obvious to all that he and I were _'together'_ even if we had not announced it aloud to the room or had shouted it from atop of Big Ben. But suddenly the Green-Eyed Monster paid me a visit and I then spent the entire evening flirting and teasing with faceless men as he stood back in forced impotence to the emotions he had at me flaunting myself at other's who were not him and making it very clear to people who were surrounding me that for me to 'enjoy' herself all I had to do was be separated from the man I walked in with.

It had taken me all of six-months to have worked it all out. This was the _other_ message that was unwritten in Ron's Letter. Ron had left England, not only because he thought I needed to find someone else and that he was _'hurt'_, but because he viewed that my abhorrent behavior that night might be a reflection upon him and me in the eyes of others.

It never _clicked_ with me that when we had our _'discussion'_ on the street outside of my home that his argument was not self directed, but rather one of concern towards how other's would now judge me from this behavior.

'_Scarlet Woman', 'Tease', 'Hussy', 'Flirt'_. They were not spoken with any true vindictiveness. But rather as ones that were used to stress and describe how others at the Ministry could possibly see me now thanks to my earlier antics. Yet at the time I could not see this _'attack'_ as worry for my reputation, I saw it as an attack against me! I was so prepared to take an offensive attitude against Ron that I only heard what I wanted to hear. And then I responded to this concern by verbally belittling him, no wonder he looked confused and caught unawares to what I was saying.

I was dancing with man-after-man, how could I have not seen how this would have reflected upon me, and of course to by boyfriend - Ron? My behavior that night was all but castrating him and making fun of his _'manliness'_ for everyone in the Dance Hall to see and gossip about the following day. And then for good measure to round off the experience I start yelling at him outside of my parent's house.

He left me that morning at the Burrow for the sake of his reputation, as well as mine. I had, after all, a chance to have a brilliant career and he saw himself as someone who would be holding me back in achieving my full potential. In his letter he said I didn't need the snickers of Minister's and office-jokes on how such a talented and beautiful witch like me had ended up with such a louse like him. He believed I had the World at my feet and if he stayed then he would most likely all but muck it up for me.

Yes, Voldermort did his share of the damage to Ron, but I certainly took credit for the rest. If Ron ever came home to face his _imaginary demons_ then he had to come home by choice I, Harry, Ginny or even his mother and father could not drag him back against his will. He had to comeback a whole man with **all** his pride returned to him. That was what Harry meant when he said it was a _'guy'_ thing. All I could do was be there waiting for him, no matter how much time it took.

I did know that Ron spent a couple of Year's in Romania working side-by-side with his brother, Charlie, at the Dragon Reserve. And I knew that he used to Portkey to other European countries for _'Dragon Related Business'_. Using his celebrity to guilt some Ministries out of needed gold in order to continue on with the upkeep of the Preserve. But I never once decided to pester him with my own Owl's. Ron was working through all of this by himself and that was the way he wanted it. All I could do in the interim was progress on with my life. Harry and Ginny and everyone else always tried to include me as many things as possible, sensing most likely that I had still not forgiven myself. I never tried to be 'obvious' about how lonely I felt, but it's hard not to experience this emotion when I would return home from work to an empty apartment and single-serving meals.

Of course I had received offers for the occasional night-outs and dates with single Wizards that would frequent about the Ministry. But I was always worried that some gutter-journalist for society section of 'The Prophet' would be lying in wait, anxious to take my photograph. Being looked upon as a 'Hero' gave the Press a sense of righteousness to expose all aspects of our personal life in order for it to sell their papers. In a lot of ways, Ron was lucky to have fled England as quickly as he did. He didn't know it, but as soon as the shine of the infamous Golden Trio had run its course, Harry, Ginny and my life slowly became more claustrophobic.

Harry and Ginny eventually started giving up going out to dinner altogether because of the attention their presence would attract. And when they did it was usually under the guise of some glamour spell to change their outward appearance and fake names. Over the past three years there was not a single one of us who were not touched by some make-believe scandal. For example, last year because Ginny had put on a few extra pounds over winter an expose was made that she was pregnant with Harry's child. Or my own frontline banner in which Rita Skeeter revealed that I had misappropriated a clean ten-thousand gold coins form the yearly Report for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Budget. It didn't matter that this was an error of another person due to poor math's skills, I was part of this department and therefore the fault had to been mine and that I was the said guilty party. Retractions were of course always made the next day after a very heated communiqué from myself, Harry or Ginny. But typically, these said apologies could only be found in small print on page 52 under the little read comic strip 'Augustus Poink - the Clueless Muggle'.

It was ironic that Ron had partly left out of concern on how his reputation had been tarnished, and yet out of all three of us, because of his absence and lack of regular contact, HIS was perhaps the one the public of magical England now trusted and admirered the most. This much is very evident given the indications of this turn out today. When he sent his father an Owl that he was finally coming home in two-days time, I didn't sleep a wink. I spent half of what I had saved going garment shopping and to a boutique that claimed it could shed 10-years off your appearance.

He said that he would be porting in at the Burrow at 10am; I wasn't prepared to take any chances and arrived that morning at 8. At 5 minutes past ten his Port key activated and he descended to the garden like he was skipping through the air. I remember cursing myself for not have bringing a camera with me to capture this moment. There was only one word to describe how he looked to me at this moment – Perfect.

That perfection was a nine-day ago and since then only more tears have shed themselves from my eyes. But not today. Today I am anything but a weeping girl!

Yes, I have made mistakes, who hasn't? Some people's mistakes are small while other people's mistakes are not. In my life there has only been one mistake I have made that I have ever regretted with all my soul. And in the next five seconds I will be probably make myself another, but somehow I doubt that I will ever truly regret it. All I have to do is wait for my queue to stand.

"_And if there is any one present who does not see fit the union of these two people, Ronald Weasley and Magdalena Cosma. Speak now, or forever hold your peace …"_

TBC??

A/N – Read and Review 


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait, I hope you all think it was worth it. This part takes place directly after Hermione stands up during Ron's Marriage and objects to the union between himself and Magdalena.

- Are supposed to represent inner thoughts.

Read and Review

Whoever said _'Silence is golden'_, was a bloody Git. And the bloke who said _'Hey, that's pretty profound, mate. Let's write it down so that future generations can benefit from this brilliant piece of wisdom.'_ was a first-rate Prat. But still, here I sit. Being all _'golden'_ because once upon a time some Git and Prat thought it was a bloody great idea for me to do so.

It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the laughable fact that sitting opposite to me was the one person in all the world I wish I could talk to. Talk to and explain this whole mess with. But I can't. I made myself a pledge, and it is one, whether good or bad, that I have to see through to the bitter end. Sure, some might say that what I'm doing is all _noble, gallant, heroic, sacrificing_ as well as a few other chivalrous words that basically means, when you apperated all the fluffy-hype away, is that what I really am is a sucker for any girl in distress. But what could I have done? Looking back now there were probably a dozen things, but recrimination has always been a personal specialty of mine so why change something I have been able to perfect to a 'T'?

I swear if you looked up _Pillock_ in the Dictionary you would most likely see the name _'Ronald Weasley'_ inscribed as being a perfect example to it's living and breathing meaning. Sure, Charlie was as proud as punch and as honored as honored could be at my resolution to play a _'White Knight' _to this Damsel. But in truth I suspect he was more relieved that I was the one who decided to _'step-up' _and take this thing on my shoulder's, thereby sparing him of doing such. Smug-Bastard.

God! How can something that was to be so simple-and-quiet become so bloody complicated-and-loud all within a matter of days? Oh yeah, now I remember. I decided to listen to the advice of the infallible Harry _'I-always-know-whats-right- for-everyone'_ Potter.

'_Ron, you have to invite Hermione, she's your best mate. Besides, you owe it to her after all the nonsense you've put her through over the past few years. You can't just get married and not have her be there. Especially when you have invited just about everyone else that you and your family know. People will notice her absence and ask 'why'. Is that something you want to answer time-and-time again? And who knows, maybe this will even give her a chance at closure and to finally start mooning after some other bloke. Look, if you're worried that she'll make some kind of scene or commotion then set your mind at rest – She won't, I swear it. She only wants for you what the rest of us do and that is for you to be happy.'_

Gee, thanks Harry. What would have today been like if not for your sage counsel? Oh, that's right … it would have been a flippin' WEDDING for starters. You know what Harry? The next time I see you I gonna remind you of that little evocation of yours on 'Mione's behalf and then I'm going to plant my foot so far into your bollocks that your kids and grandkids will be born cross-eyed.

Still, he did have a point. The Git.

I owed it to her to help find some peace of mind and to finally accept that I would never come back to her, at least not back in the manner she thought I would. Every Owl I received from Harry or Ginny where the _Hermione Topic_ was touched on was a cold cruelty to me. Their tactics were pretty clear and obvious, they were shaming me to return home and repair what had broken between her and me. The laugh was that nothing was broken, at least nothing in my eyes, therefore by this reasoning nothing needed repairing.

Harry would dedicate on average a single paragraph per-letter on how lonely and miserable I had made her and that she was living a 'Nun's Lifestyle' as a penance for everything she thought she had done to me. That was bad enough, but Ginny was a whole lot colder. I could easily go for months and not receive a single note about Hermione from her and then out of the blue I would get an Owl all but dropping from out of the sky, suffering from exhaustion and some hernia type aliment after carrying thirty to forty pieces of parchment - all outlining in detail of what an unforgiving 'Arse' I am for making Hermione pine and suffer for lack of me.

Hells-Bells, I didn't need them to tell me that I had been a willful bastard, but how could I admit to them the extent of my own feelings? They would have used it against me, or at least provided Hermione hope that I desired reconciliation. The best I could ever do was offer the occasional question in my own correspondence and enquire subtly into how she was.

Yes, I know. I was a true coward that morning, and a spiteful one at that. I should have hashed things out with her before fleeing to Romania and to Charlie's Dragon Preserve. But I didn't. I left it all one-sided. Her tears flowed down her cheek and her words were all choked in regret and I know that all she wanted from me was to engage her in discussion over what she did at the Party and what she had said to me after. She wanted me to 'talk' about my feelings and reveal my most hidden and inner-most thoughts. But I couldn't. I mean, how could I reason against all that stuff she said? Especially, if when you cut down to the bone of it all, that all the rot she said about me wasn't true, or nonsense that I hadn't heard before from either her or an umpteenth number other people.

I can't change who I am, nor should I. Those were my thoughts and feelings then, and by Merlin's Wand they remain my thoughts and feelings now too.

I'll never be posh, clever or sophisticated. I'll only ever need to use one bloomin' fork for a meal instead of eleven. And I make no apologies for the fact that Qudditich, to me, will indeed always be viewed as the greatest creation of man - EVER! Quite easily surpassing in my opinion all the other contributions made by humans like language, the wheel, electricity and toilet paper. We-e-e-e-l-l-l-l, maybe not toilet paper, I suppose Quidditch and toilet paper are even, but as ties go it is probably as close as they get.

I mean you can't transfigure feathers onto a cow and then call it a bird. And if Hermione couldn't accept me for me, with my favors and flaws all, then it would be far better for both of us, certainly her, if we just ended things before we had both gotten too far down that road to ever turn around and get back to the place from where we originally came.

If I didn't sever things then and accept the obvious truth of our future together, then Hermione sure as _Hell_ wouldn't. Because even though she may be opinionated and a read pain on the backside 70 of the time, she is also, without doubt, one of the most loyal and most determined people I have ever met. And she would have stuck it out with me, no matter how embarrassing I was for her, or of the humiliation and misery I bought into her life as being the bloke she had chosen to shackle herself to. And just because I wasn't much of a _specimen in the Boyfriend Department, _like she said, it didn't mean I ever wanted, or had the right, to drag her down and have her live her life at my level. Especially when she had it in herself to soar higher and further then I ever could. After all, she was intelligent, beautiful, respectful, sincere, passionate, a hard worker and full of all types of social graces and good manners. Everything I wasn't. She could be perhaps the youngest Minister of Magic of all time, if she ever put a tenth of her mind to it

If I hadn't committed myself to my decision that fateful morning to leave and had instead stayed then I would have bought her nothing but misfortune. When the novelty of me being seen as a _'Hero'_ had worn out in people's memories, then any boorish behaviors of mine would have stopped being excusable to them. For the sake of her bright future, brilliant career and maybe even her sanity, I had to remain true to my course and separate her name from mine. She was better off without me being in the picture, that way she could go to as many high-brow Social Do's as she wanted and dance with as many respectable bloke's she wished, all without thinking or worrying over how it might look to others or feeling guilty over it all.

But to be honest I couldn't say this decision was an easy one for me to make, she was, and is, my heart and my next breath. When she had popped into the Burrow with red eyes, mascara streaks down her cheeks, frizzled hair, wailing like a Banshee, apologizing and then asking me to forgive her. It took everything I had to remain centered and unmoved by her words. This action, however, was not impossible and was made all the easier given that the words she had spoken several hours before had contained a taunting air of Voldermort.

As she spoke at length, in my minds-memory, I just replayed her earlier words and added a serpentine hiss to them. She could say sorry and deny what she said as being a reliable reflection of how she saw me, but if there is one thing I have learned over the many years of being a Weasley it's that words and comments made in the heat of the moment, though usually tactless and poorly timed, are also and typically ones that reveal the true thoughts of the person speaking them.

I suspect, Hermione, was more troubled because she had let her guard and defenses down and that in her diatribe she revealed the things she was keeping secure and hidden, if not from me, then quite possibly from her very self. But the trouble with this was that I already knew all my faults and had come to accept them as things that would eternally define me. After all, when you've inadvertently played host to a piece of a soul from the vilest Wizard in history and then given said-wizard's-soul free reign of all your personal history, fears, thoughts, hopes and loves. And then have all these doubts and insecurities exposed to you and given paranoid form. Then no insult, even from the person you love more then your own life, could ever take away the eternal pain and the quiet burden of hubris from you.

For me to have remained in England would have been a selfish act, one that would only prove to many others the validity of the critisms she spoke that morning. For the two of us to continue socializing in the same group of friends and pretending that 'all was well', it would have been an uncomfortable situation for her to be placed in. And it would have also placed Harry and everyone else in a position where they would have had to pick some kind of side in it all.

Leaving and giving her this time to be surrounded by supportive people who were not torn in their loyalties between her and me was the only thing I could do. After all, Hermione always did have problems making friends, most of the ones she has now are ones that were Harry's and mine first. This is mainly because very few people could look beyond her bookish ways and see that her direct and matter-of-fact manner was one that she used as a defense against her poor social skills. As such very few people ever had the patience to tolerate or even look beyond this _'wall'_ of hers to be able to get to know the incredible witch she was. Hell, if it wasn't for Harry's guilt and one stupid Mountain Troll bumbling into Hogworts on Halloween I doubt that I could have ever have counted myself amongst that number.

More often then not she would inadvertently place many potential friends and people at odds against her, even though she wouldn't know it. I cannot name the number of times I had to stand over a _'midget'_ or some other upper-year student because they wanted to complain to McGonnagall over her inflexibility as a House Prefect. She may have thought she was being fair and doing her duty, but what she was actually doing was making a decent amount of students unhappy. Students who were seeking her expulsion from the prestigious role of Prefect, claiming that _'Power and Authority had gone to her head rubbish'_. If such a thing as being demoted to just a 'Senior' ever happened it would have destroyed her. If she only knew the number of times I had to sprint up those ruddy stone block stairs between classes or from the Common Room to that old Bird's Office in order to head-off some pissed _Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Raveclaw_ and _Gryffindore_ student that had just been given detention or loss of points from her. This used to get Lavender right pissed at me, I suppose from me playing this whole 'Knight'-crap for her made, Lav-Lav, think I could never not help her, even when we were at odds with one another.

**This** was the main reason why I rarely found the bloody time to do my fifth and sixth year Assignments properly. I was always too busy watching out for her arse. And then just like her when I went and asked for some help she would turn around and lecture me on my poor time management, or my mental laziness at not doing a decent job on my work. I used to always silently chuckle to myself at that. But when she was leaning over and correcting my efforts and adding the odd _tsk tsk_ sound that she always did when she found some inconceivable error in my work. I would swear on my wand that I would fight any battle of hers as long as it always gave me the chance to sit this close and to be able to smell that blissful smelling shampoo she used. But this was only a Schoolboy's dream and an idiot's wish, and I am well and truly of 'Age' now so such thoughts can no-longer exist for me.

At any rate, I believed she needed Harry a lot more then I did. I can remember his arguing as I packed my stuff that fateful morning. With him telling me, bordering on yelling, that there was plenty of him to go around and that I didn't have to scarper. And when he realized that I was going to go regardless to his softly-softly approach, he changed tact. He began stating that he wasn't exclusively anyone's property and I had no right to dictate to him who he should spend more time with. Looking back on this moment it still almost makes me laugh. Harry, trying to hold his decency to ransom in a manner to bully me towards remaining. How is that not funny? It was a bluff, a good bluff and one that nearly worked, but a bluff just the same. The trouble was that Harry was too good of a person to turn his back on one mate just because he was angered at another. No matter what rot he threatened me with I knew he would be there for Hermione, no matter how chucked off he was at her.

Harry also said that I was an idiot if I thought going away for a month would solve anything. A month. Yeah, that's what it was going to be … originally. I was going to show up on Charlie's doorstep with a sob-story, one that would appeal to his overprotective nature as a big brother and ask him to put me up for a few weeks. Pleading with him to let me earn my keep by helping around the Preserve in some fashion or another.

It so happened that fortune had finally smiled upon me with the timing of my unexpected arrival. As only a day before another _'Handler'_ at the Preserve had gotten himself gobbled-up by a pregnant Dragon. One who was going through a _'pickles-and-ice cream'_ moment _(though it was fortuneous for me, I doubt the same could be said for him)._ I was enthusiastically accepted into the Dragon Keeper's Brethren for all of three reasons. The first was that the guy I was replacing (_the one that had been eaten_), was apparently a real arse. So my presence was considered a definite improvement from the alternative that had previously existed for them.

Second, they were playing a game of Quidditch with a rival group who took care of Griffon's in Lithuania in a week's time and were in desperate need of a decent Keeper. And third, I was Charlie's younger brother. The one who he never stopped boasting about. Apparently I had earned a little bit of a fan base there thanks to him talking about my various adventures at Hogworts, fighting side-by-side with THE Harry Potter. This, and my recent acceptance of the _First Order of Merlin_ only helped cement my standing as having the sand to face up to any disagreeable scale-head.

The month eventually strayed to a year, and a year to three. There was nothing diabolical about my choice to remain; I found the work there both enjoyable and distracting. But sadly not distracting enough to forget why I left England in the first place. Hermione Granger's ghost was always there in whatever I did.

How could I ever return home until I had gotten over the impact she had in my life?

I eventually decided that though I could not change who I was, that it did not mean that I could not do things that wouldn't help me _'grow'_ into someone I wanted to be. I began to use my clout as a War Hero to intimidate some of the various Magical Ministries around Europe to fund other Preserves in their own countries. In Germany we organized Giants, in Russia we had Centaurs, in Spain … well the list kinda went on and on and eventually it started to develop a life of it's own after a while. I had, more or less, taken the confrontational concept of 'Mione's _S.P.E.W_. effort back in our fourth year and made it more accepting for some of the traditionalist Wizards and Witches out there. Was I proud of what I did and accomplished? Damn right, I was. But I still couldn't come home. If I came home to Mum and Dad, doing the prodigal son returning thing, I would have been defenseless to forgetting why I had left in the first place and vulnerable to Hermione. I couldn't return back to the Burrow, my family and friends until I was _'protected'_ from her.

Every night I would go to sleep wishing that the following morning I would wake up and love her less, or that I would receive an owl from either Harry or Ginny offering me the eventual word that she was dating some Pure-Blood prat. Neither option, truth be told, actually thrilled me. And when it became obvious that both our separate motives were in a figurative staring-competition with one another (_her staying single and me staying away until she had started her life anew_), I decided that it fell to me to be the one to _'blink'_ first. So I did in the form of a seventeen year old gypsy girl who used to pass through the Preserve with the rest of her family-tribe eight-times a year.

I had first met the Cosma Tribe as I was searching for a wounded Horntail that had escaped one of our Healing Tent's. Sure it might have been a youngster, but even a prepubescent Horntail can cause more strife then many could deal with.

I was flying over the northern sector and I spotted their Caravan's receiving a bit of a roasting from said frightened and the very confused fire-lizard. I doubt it had ever seen a caravan before and it was looking to it as a bit of a threat to him in his injured state. I sent out a flare and did some distracting swooping on the youngster to draw it away from those trapped within. There was no way I was going to tackle one of these things alone, especially an injured one, without appropriate backup from Charlie and the others. When the team did eventually arrive we all did our selected part and took this 'troublemaker' of ours down safely. Then I went about transfiguring the various damage that was done by the little-bugger's antics so that the frightened group could be on their way. Yet in doing so I earned the goggling and appreciative eyes of a 15-year old girl who was looking upon me as the independent savior of her family.

After that little adventure they would stop by our Base whenever they entered the Preserve and sought out safe passage through the Protected Region by having one of us flying point for them until they exited the zone.

More often then not, as the junior Handler, this task fell to me to perform. It wasn't that I minded the 'contact' with the Gypsies, infact I could very well relate to their simple lifestyle. I even took a couple of their kids on Broom-rides, something that endeared me to the traveling group and had them ask me out by name. But after a few run's it became obvious that little Magdalena was developing a crush upon the dashing red-headed Wizard who flew on a broom and did battle with fierce Dragon's. It was a simple fascination and it was one that was in itself both harmless and amusing to me, and I have to admit I was developing a bit of a soft-spot for her because of all the hero-worship she did. Personally, I can't understand how Harry was unable to enjoy the admiration and attention he got as the _'Boy-who-lived'_, but then again I suppose that what makes him and me different.

Anyway, three-weeks ago everything changed. And it changed in a way that forced me to return home to England and confront, or rather do my best to avoid, the life I had abandoned three-years earlier.

Even before I Port-Keyed in I knew that things would not go smoothly for me. Hermione, had bottled up in her three-years worth of pent up emotion, so when I finally appeared back at the Burrow presenting a fiancée that my family and closest friend wasn't even aware I had, I knew that it would cause nothing but confusion and a lot of hurt. As such, I guess it was predictable that her ruining my Wedding Day in some form should have been a given affair, even for a Novice-Diviner. Afterall, I still hold across my brow two small and faint scars caused my magical canneries, and all I did was kiss Lavender for those. Still, corrupting the integrity of the actual Ceremony itself? I never thought 'Mione would **ever** have the balls to go to that extreme. But she did, which I guess pretty much tells me exactly just how pissed off she is with me.

Tomorrow morning there will be undoubtedly a Front Page expose in _The Prophet_, as well as its society section; of the uproar she created at the _'Wedding of the Decade'_. And a few photos of shocked guests who had invited themselves to the event.

It was all supposed to be a quiet get together of family and select friends, but as soon as my name appeared on the Marriage Certificate at the Department of Romantic Bondings, it became a real circus for fellow veterans, Ministry Official's, Witches and Wizard Celebrities, friends-of-friends-of-friends-of-friends. Afterall, I was the only War-Hero of integrity getting married. That statement by the Press only had me ask _**what the 'ell have Harry, Ginny and Hermione had been getting themselves up in the interim?!**_ I received a very humorous retelling by George over some of the 'scandals' that had taken place in my absence and of which Harry and Ginny had chosen to spare me of the sorted details. It was nice to see George slowly returning back to his old jovial self, but I knew in my heart that the mirthful spirit he once had would never be reclaimed, Fred was too much part of his soul for him to ever move on.

He told me of Harry and Ginny's various 'pregnancy' scares, of a few claims of Harry cheating on my little sister. Then there was the allegation that Hermione had been involved in some inappropriate acquisitions of funds from her Department at the Ministry. George even went on to share many of the other rumors that had circulated around these three that never made print but had been gossiped about in Diagon Alley. As twisted as it sounds, I never allowed myself to laugh so hard as I did that night in close to five years. Especially when I was told that one of the theories of why Harry hadn't made Ginny an honest woman yet was because he was gay and that I had left because he and I were in some weird guy-guy relationship with the other and I had made the demand that he chose between me and my little sister and that Ginny had won out. Leaving me to depart to places unknown a broken hearted soul.

Hearing from my older brother some of the stuff directed towards Hermione was the hardest to find humor in. Afterall I still had that same streak in me that I had when we were both Prefect's together. I wanted to go about and fix her problems and spare her any embarrassment and humiliation. Just like Harry, Hermione had tried to avoid the public eye wherever possible. And because of her celibate social life she had earned the question from the general magical public on whether or not she was a lesbian. My impromptu departure from the England after being seen escorting her to the Victor's Ball, the one that started this mess, provided the fodder that I feared. One story was that I had caught her in some sexual act with another guest and I broke up with her there and then. Another was that after the Dance we got all romantic together and then had sex. Later she found out that she was pregnant she decided to use a spell to aborted it. All without consulting this decision with me first. I eventually 'discovered' her deception which resulted in me dumping her and leaving.

It was hearing these last few tales that killed my amusement. I was beginning to understand the extent of the innuendoes that had been allowed to circulate in my absence. Lies of which I had been protected from. Romania may have provided me with a simple and alternative lifestyle _(of which I now totally get why Charlie loves it so much)_, but it also kept me out of the spot light.

It was through George that I **finally** learned the Department at the Ministry in which, Hermione, was working at. Over the many letters and parchment's I received, I was never told she worked for the _Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_. This was the same Department I would regularly correspond with and it made me wonder if I had ever indirectly written to her in a formal capacity to lift tour restrictions, or seek out licenses for myself to handle near-behemoth sized creatures. Considering the size of this Department – one Minister, a Sub- Minister and 6-clerks, it is more then likely that I did. I should have been right-annoyed when I learned of this possibility, but I wasn't. In a funny kind of way it was a totally Hermione thing to do. With her brain's she could have had her pick of any Department post in the Ministry, but she chose this one. Probably more likely then not, just to keep tabs on me and helping me out without letting on that she was.

Damn, this sitting in silence is maddening. I wonder if it's as frustrating for her as it is to me? Probably not. She's most likely got herself used to it spending all that time in the Library at Hogworts. Still, it's starting to get to me. If something doesn't happen soon then I'll be in a right state. What does the Bleeding Bloody Hell does _'Gebrytan-o-inbend-gaderung' _mean, and why did that dimwit of a priest suddenly go white as a ghost?' I don't know exactly what you shouted out 'Mione, but I think you got your comeuppance in spades when you said it given how quickly we three were herded in here away from all the hysteria that that was happening outside. You and that little-self-satisfied smile of yours, the one that always got plastered over your lips whenever you got the better of Malfoy. Merlin, she's a right sexy witch when she's got her fury working for her. And looking at her across the table, I can easily say she has never looked as sexy to me as she does now.

_Mordred's Ghost_, do I need help or what?!

I'm sitting here with Magdalena right beside me, confused and scared and all I want to do is jump over this table, tackle that incredibly bossy and know-it-all witch over there to the ground and then ravish her to an inch … no, MILLIMETER of her life. Surely there is no Hell worth me fearing, because I'm experiencing something far worse right now!

To his left a door opened slowly and haphazardly, the 60-year old priest entered the quiet room carrying an ancient and thick book in his left arm, his right hand wielding a wand that was levitating a large silver tray with a tea-set and biscuits upon it. "I am so terribly sorry my dear children for the delay. I had hoped to have been absent for only a few moment's but once I got out side of this room I became surrounded by Reporter's and some very upset member's of the intended bride's family."

Ron wasn't sure if he heard right and he knew Magdalena's English wasn't so astute to have picked up the word and its implication. Taking his fiancée's hand in his the red-head looked menacingly to the man of religion who had only an hour before been standing opposite from him at a Marriage alter. "What do you mean by _'intended'_? There's nothing intended about this. We're going to get married, whether it's today or tomorrow, it's going to happen."

Placing the thick book down gently upon the table, the Wizard-Priest looked upon the male red-head with compassionate eyes. "I understand your disappointment and your anxiousness, Mr. Weasley. And yes you can seek out another to marry you this very moment, but this marriage will not be recognized within our select community. There is a process involved that extends beyond my own authority to remedy."

"Remedy? Because she shout's out five flippin' words?" Ron then turned his glare to the female sitting opposite, but instead of her looking unnerved, Hermione, appeared to be suppressing another of her _'little-self-satisfied-smiles'_.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid so. And those words, though to the best of my knowledge have not been uttered in close to 300-years, play a significant role in the ceremony itself. To be honest I am very much staggered Ms Granger was able to discover the phrase at all. I myself had only heard it once during my education and training, so I was as stunned as everyone else when it was announced out loud."

Ron returned his attention back to the priest, the venom in his tone becoming less angry as he began to appreciate the unwanted position that the aged Holy man was in. "Yeah, well she's a right scary one, she is. And when it comes to research I have learned that she is one you don't doubt or second guess. So tell me, what does all this rubbish mean to me and Magdalena anyway?"

With the sound thud the book opened up to a third of its depth. "I suppose it all dates back and originates during a time, several hundred years ago, when the Pure-Blood Community, of which were then a majority but now a minority, became concerned to the progression and contamination of their assorted family line. You are, as I understand it Mister Weasley, of Pure-Blood decent? Yes, I was afraid of that. Back then marriage arrangements were more business then personal choices for the Bride and Groom. And any bonding outside of the purity of succession of a family was one that required extraordinary means to be approved upon. Ms Cosma, is not a Pure-Blood is she? Nor does any recent generations as far back of 150-years possess any trace of Pure Blood Heritage, true?"

"Her Great-Grand-Mother-has a bit of the _'Gift'_, it's nothing staggering. But it's there. She's the Matriarch of Magdalena's family and I'm guessing she not all that pleased that her favorite great-grand-daughter is being treated this way."

"Yes, I met her outside. A very … vocal woman given her advanced years."

"That's her, and vocal is a very kind and diplomatic way of putting it. One hundred and four years and still going strong. Strong and loud. I suppose that she's one of those unique cases where _Heaven doesn't want her and Hell's afraid of her_."

"Yes, quite. But despite her obstinacy and disagreeable manner the marriage law remains that - The marriage law. And Ms Granger has announced in front of hundred's of witnesses to a breach in which the institution and ceremony is based upon. There appears to be no Agreement or Contract with any beneficial parties or fair exchanges of goods towards the establishment this association. I realize that it is an obscure challenge, but it is one with significant weigh and history behind it. If Ms Granger had remained silent during the proceedings then I would have continued without any hesitation. But because she raised issue on the foundations of your union, well, that forced me to look upon the finer details myself. And my discoveries did not support a counter-challenge by yourself or Ms Cosma. I cannot find any evidence of bargaining or negotiation by either party."

"So that's it then? Because Hermione has a beef with me she's able to destroy the hopes of an innocent party?"

"No Mr. Weasley, I'm not saying that at all. I said that there are procedures under these extraordinary circumstances. The worthiness of the union between yourself and Ms Cosma must be judged on it's independence and merits. I cannot take any role in these proceedings for as it presently stands I must side, as upsetting as it is for you to know this, upon the fact of Law. I wish I could rescind this Mr. Weasley, Ms Cosma, but that doesn't fall within my scope."

"THEN WHOSE FUCKEN SCOPE DOES IT FUCKEN FALL INTO THEN?!"

"Mine."

The word caught me off guard just as the identity of the person who said it. I felt my blood turn to ice in my veins and I knew if I turned to face to person spoke it I would see that blasted 'self-satisfied-smile' on her face, only this time it would not be a small one.

"Ms Granger is correct, Mr. Weasley. As she is the one who voiced her concerns, then it is her who needs to be convinced towards the worth of your continued togetherness."

Bugger.

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